Nothing Left To Say
by silverlininginwriting
Summary: Supernatural Destiel AU. Teacher Castiel gave up his dreams to get out of his old life, and now-graduated Dean gave up his hopes of leaving town so Sam could have a better life. Both men are lost and confused, and find each other in a string of serendipitous meetings, thinking they can save each other. Rated M for sexy stuff.
1. Melrose Diner

**Summary:** A graduated student, Dean forgoes college to stick around and be a parent to Sammy, working in a dead end town, destined for a dead end life. Teacher Castiel is under pressure from his family, wishing he'd broken free earlier, and become his own person, following his own dreams. Both men are lost and confused, and find each other in a string of serendipitous meetings, thinking they can save each other.

**Rating:** NC 13 – NC 17 depending on the chapter (NC 13 for this one)

**Paring:** Dean/Castiel

**Spoilers/Warnings: **No spoilers, completely AU. Story will contain mentions of abuse and alcoholism, lost dreams and other sad angsty things, most likely some violence and definitely sex.

* * *

The favourite part of Dean Winchester's day, was working.

He barely had any time to himself at home with his little brother Sam and father-figure Bobby always in and out of the small space he occupied in their tiny house, needing help with something, or just coming in to annoy him. When Sam went to school to study advanced mathematics and chemistry, and Bobby went into the Singer's Auto Repair office to sort out the books, Dean worked the shop floor. He tinkered with the cars, got is hands dirty, spent half the day lost under a classic car's hood, mesmerised by the beauty in how she would run once he was finished with her. Most importantly, he was alone. Bobby had other workers in the Auto Shop he had owned and run since before Dean was born, but they kept out of Dean's way, only bothering him when they needed his skill and expertise. Dean was nineteen and had just graduated the year before, but was known as the best mechanic in town, and praised for his brilliant self-taught, yet extremely skilled work. If his work schedule was full, he was happy. It was slow days like today that made him tug at his cropped dirty blond hair in frustration as the spare time let his mind seep with emotions he thought he'd long since forgotten.

He'd already tidied up the workshop twice, and organised Bobby's tools and spare parts into categories, labels and all. He could hear his almost-father Bobby muttering to himself in his office, most likely surrounded by the perpetual stacks of papers and files that needed sorting. Dean had repeatedly told Bobby to just hire some help, yet the old man refused with a hissed "idgit" and a slammed door. Dean tended to leave Bobby alone with the business side of things nowadays. He didn't dare go up and annoy Bobby in his office, knowing he would be too busy to listen to Dean talk about his feelings. Agitated and bored, Dean parked his '67 Chevrolet Impala in front of the shop and jacked it up, before rolling underneath her on his creeper, willing away the thoughts he was having. And for the most part, it worked. His baby made him happier, well busier really, but when Dean was busy; he was blissful. He tinkered and fiddled with her already perfect parts to pass the time, singing along to the Classic Rock radio station he'd set to blare loud enough to reach him under the Impala. It wasn't long before his much needed alone-time therapy came to an abrupt end.

Two faded purple converse streaked with black grease came to rest beside the Impala with a familiar knock on the hood to alert Dean to the company. "Ugh Jo, can't you see I'm busy." Dean groaned as he felt her small hand grip his ankle and pull him and the creeper out from under the car.

"I was gonna ask for some work, but I can see there is none" She attempted a laugh, her other small hand brandishing a rather large takeaway coffee from their favourite local café, offering it to Dean.

"Bribery never works, Harvelle. Get back to school. It's only 12 o' clock." Dean scolded her, but took the coffee anyway, and inhaled the rich aroma of much-needed caffeine.

"I was having a caramel macchiato craving and thought to myself 'who better than to share this beautiful beverage with, than the one and only, Dean Winchester'" She joked, planting herself down with her back leaning against the Impala. Dean could see the puffiness in her face, the hurriedly brushed away tears and the red tinged eyes.

It wasn't something she could hide from Dean; he was too sensitive to her, the kid he always looked out for, who looked up to him with such high adoration. Dean sighed, forgoing his own welling sadness, and swiveled himself around to sit beside her on the numbingly cold concrete shop floor, offering his shoulder for her head to rest on, knowing his usual 'emotionally-stunted' silence was what she was after when she turned up at the shop looking for him.

He wasn't really emotionally-stunted. Well, not exactly. Sam liked to think of himself as a psychology expert since the little shit took a senior psychology class during his first semester at high school and had ever since liked to pick Dean's brains, often pulling apart what his defence mechanisms his 'aggressively masculine' demeanour meant. Most commonly uttered, was 'emotionally-stunted.' Dean had emotions just like everyone else, except he had difficulty expressing them to other people, and ended up bottling them up to avoid the frustration of not being understood. That wasn't stunted; it was just choosing a bad way to deal with your problems. Dean never told Sam any of this though, he just laughed it off and ruffled Sammy's hair, playing right into his defence mechanism predictions.

Jo however, never did seem to mind his inability to express his feelings; they had more of a silent bond and understanding. They didn't need words or emotions or complications. They were just _there_ for each other. Their other friends seemed to question it, but the two of them just clicked in a softly-spoken way, the easiest of friendships. A cup of coffee here, an offered shoulder there. It was comfortable, and safe, and the closest either of them could get to happiness.

Dean could figure why she was upset. Jo worked part time in Bobby's shop with him, and wanted to work in the shop after graduation, becoming a mechanical apprentice. With her graduation looming closer, Ellen, Jo's loving yet strong and forceful mother was growing more and more agitated by her daughter's continued refusal of college or further education. Truth be told, Dean knew why Ellen was pushing Jo to leave town, why they all pushed Jo to get out. It was a dead-end place, with not many options for young people; the biggest career path was working the factory line, or becoming a waitress. Jo was in the year below Dean, the youngest of their mismatched group of friends, and had found it tough having her friends abandon her as they graduated high school and dispersed amongst themselves. Ash had left to go to MIT - Massachusetts Institute of Technology where he was probably top of his class in everything and better at whatever it is they studied than the professors. Chuck was off studying Journalism with a minor in Creative Writing at Michigan State; already sending off books and comics to the publishers, and Charlie never really did tell them where she was heading, just that she needed out and would check back in every now and then. Dean and Jo hoped she wasn't in trouble, but that was often the case with Charlie and her flamingly liberal politics. That left the two of them, alone together stuck in South Dakota where they had spent most of their lives. Their friends had bigger and brighter futures. For the two misfits, it was just home.

Everyone cared for Jo, and wanted a better life for her. Dean wanted a better life for her, than the one he had chosen for himself. Yet he didn't say these things as they sat together. He just settled in as she rested her head on his solid shoulder, looking for comfort and reassurance that everything would be okay. The silence poured over them, and bathed them in lost emotions and feelings of emptiness, the low hum of classic rock spilling out from the radio behind them.

They sat like that for what must have been hours, until Bobby found them and chewed their ears off for wasting his money paying them (well Dean, since Jo technically wasn't rostered on to work) and sitting around "doin' jack-squat." He shoved them out of the shop with a grunt and a muttered "see you tomorrow morning" in Dean's direction. Jo raised her eyebrow at Dean but he brushed it off, preferring not to tell his closest friend about his late Friday night activities. He didn't want her tagging along, and most certainly did not want to be judged. The two of them climbed into the Impala and drove around listening to 'mullet rock' - as Jo had called it - until they got to their favourite place to eat - Melrose Diner, piling in just in time to wave to Penny, who was just finishing her shift.

She grinned at them and gestured to the pie in the cabinet. "I made it fresh just in case you two would stop by." Her apron was slightly askew, soft brown hair almost falling out from its loosely tied bun, heavy bruising bags under her eyes. She was their favourite waitress, a slightly dumpy woman in her late thirties, working night shifts at the hospital and day shifts at the diner to put her kids through school, and she worked harder than anyone either of them had ever met. Dean and Jo pooled what money they had to leave considerable tips each time they visited. She needed it more than they did. She waved on her way out, a smile on her soft, slightly weathered motherly face.

Dean and Jo holed up in a booth with cracked cherry red vinyl seats and a table with a hefty layer of grease, ordering pancakes and maple syrup for Jo, double cheeseburger and fries for Dean, with a slice of hot apple pie for dessert. They sat in humbled silence, eating and listening to the 80s tracks playing from the Jukebox, Dean singing along occasionally when he knew the words. When it was dark enough that they could see the stars, signalling Jo's curfew, Dean drove her home to Harvelle's Roadhouse, the local bar her mother owned with their living quarters on the second story. The Roadhouse was famous for the cheap beer and numerous hunters that stopped by, mixing with the few town drunks that wasted their lives, playing pool and reminiscing about the 'good ol' days.'

Dean opened Jo's door and let her climb out, before enclosing her in a rare hug and pushing her towards her home. It was draining supporting her, as she was more like him than he was willing to admit, and she was a gentle reminder of all the things he had screwed up since high school, all the ways his life could have been different, but wasn't.

* * *

Stuck with the emotions he'd let escape during their 'whatever it is you'd call that' support session, Dean turned the Impala around and drove 30 miles out of town to the bar he frequented on Friday nights where he set himself up at his usual spot at the bar and gave a nod to the bartender who poured him his usual double shot whiskey, no questions asked. Adam, the bartender, kept refilling his glass until a tall, pretty, blond girl appeared by his elbow, equipped with her own subtle come-ons and pick up lines. Dean didn't even have to drop the bait and he'd already caught this one hook, line and sinker. Adam winked as they stood up to leave and Dean slapped a twenty on the bar, giving the quiet man a salute. He didn't even catch the girl's name, and he didn't need it.

He needed an anchor, something to hold him down, something. Anything. As he crawled out of her bed in a hung-over stupor early the next morning, she merely rolled over and uttered a 'thanks' for the evening and went back to sleep.

When he got a taxi home and staggered in the door, an already awake Sam was sitting at the table, like an anxious parent waiting for their irresponsible teenager to get home.

"God Dean, you reek of alcohol. Where were you? Where's your car?" Sam stands up and hauls Dean into the nearest chair, towering over his older brother like the 6'2 giant that he is. Dean gently pushes him away, tired and feeling as empty as ever.

"Relax, baby is safe. Adam will be keeping an eye on her. I'll go get her later."

"You went to Ivy again? That bar sucks Dean, I don't know why you drive out of town to drink," Sam frowns, then flinches with the truth. "They don't know you there do they, the girls? The college girls, I'm guessing. The ones dumb enough to crawl into bed with you, thinking you'll call when you won't."

"Sam." Dean whispers, bracing his hand against the throbbing in his head, the aching in his chest almost too much to handle.

"Go to bed," Sam orders, with the most adult voice the fifteen year old can manage. "And for your sake, let's hope drunk you used protection, because we don't need any more of you running around."

"Harsh, Sammy, harsh." Dean tries to laugh, but the sound comes out as a choked wheeze, his body punishing him for all the whiskey last night. He sighs and allows himself to be dragged up the stairs to his small room and thrown onto his twin bed.

"Someone has to be." Sam replies, frowning deeply at his still drunk brother, worried and confused.

Dean's Friday night drinking is a regular occurrence, but he's never usually this wasted, or looking as emotionally shattered as he does right now. Sam considers calling Bobby at the shop, but changes his mind. He'll wait until Bobby gets home that night to quietly discuss what's going on with Dean, knowing Dean would never tell either of them on his own accord, or anyone else for that matter.

Sam and Dean came to live with Bobby ten years ago, moving into the slightly crumbling house behind the Auto Shop and Salvage yard Bobby had built when he'd inherited the large property from some family member he'd thought had cut him out of their will, and for the most part, they called it home.

Their father was in the military, an armed defender in the Marine Corps. It sounded a lot cooler than it actually was, because John Winchester missed out of both his son's childhoods. Dean was practically raised by Bobby, with Sam being raised by the both of them. Their mother passed away when Sam was barely six months old, leaving John widowed with two kids and no options other than to fall into the bottle where he stayed for four years. Dean remembers some of this period, although if ever asked, he pretends he doesn't, while Sam has no recollection of their mother, or the earlier years of John's drinking and abuse. Most nights it was Dean and merely a toddler Sam hiding under Dean's bed until John had destroyed some other precious keepsake of their mother Mary's and worn himself down, passing out like deadweight brick. That's what he was to the two boys, almost a piece of the furniture. He never spoke, other than to incoherently rant in his inebriated state. During the first two years he couldn't even look at Dean. Later when he was older, Dean realised it was because he had his mother's eyes, a deep emerald green, and John couldn't stand the guilt of her death.

Things were better once he sobered up, but that still didn't erase any of the abuse he put Dean through. It was always Dean. He never once touched Sam. For lack of opportunity or because he was too young, Dean never knew. But he never let Sammy out of his sight around their father, always ready to step in front of Sam. He would take a bullet for his baby brother; sell his soul just to keep him safe, burdened with the responsibility of protecting him. Dean had always been the adult in their relationship.

Dean couldn't pin point the moment things got better, but he remembered Bobby dragging John to therapy, and eventually rehab, taking over as official guardian of the two boys. John never did return home to Lawrence, flitting from town to town once he was sober, becoming a crazed nomadic, searching, always searching. They didn't figure out what it was he was looking for, but they guessed he either found it or gave up, because he enlisted in the United States Marine Corps on the day of Dean's ninth birthday, just after Bobby had moved the boys upstate with him to his home in South Dakota.

Dean remembered that day with crystal clarity because he expected John to show up, but all he got was the call, that his Dad was joining the military and he wouldn't be able to contact them for a while, for safety reasons. Not that he ever contacted them anyway, not even to check in.

John never knew about the time Sam broke his collarbone when he was six, flying over the handlebars of his bike like a superhero, only to land on the side of the jetty by the lake Bobby took them to every summer, unstable wood hitting his chest with brute force, leaving him in hospital for weeks. He never knew how Dean cracked his forehead open when he was eleven, getting too excited about working on his first car alone in the shop and smacking it on the underside of the popped hood, earning him a battle scar interrupting his right eyebrow, breaking it in two. He never knew how upset Sammy was the day he had to get braces when he was ten, or the pure joy he felt when he had them removed when he was thirteen. He never called to hear about Dean's first kiss, the first time he brought a girl home. He never gave Dean 'the talk', never called him up to ask him about the first car he built himself, or to congratulate him when he graduated high school against all odds. He was never there.

In some ways, the two boys were grateful for their biological father's absence in their lives. Bobby was fantastic, being around enough to enforce his authority and be a parent, without the commitment of biology and genetics. Not that it mattered to Dean or Sam. He might as well have been their father, family doesn't end with blood, but he was always more relaxed about curfews and restrictions and rules, preferring for the two boys to make their own decisions, with the hopes that they'd make good ones.

It nearly always worked.

* * *

**A/N:** Please let me know what you think, sorry no Castiel this chapter, but he'll be introduced very soon! All mistakes are my own; if you find any, let me know. Anyone wanting to beta I'd be eternally grateful. I'm writing ahead, so to start I'll upload one chapter each week, maybe speed things up once I finish school and post twice a week. I'll try to stay regular. Also, I'm from New Zealand, so like the British, some of our words are different spelling, like "favourite" instead of the American "favorite." It's too much effort for me to go through and change it every time, so I hope it doesn't bother you too much. Enjoy guys.


	2. Harvard

"Really Sam, You had to set up a parent teacher meeting, didn't you?" Dean cursed, frustration coating his gruff voice as they walked the halls of Kripke High School, the place Dean had been sure he'd left behind for good.

It was almost a week later, after Dean's unexplainable bender, and he was still mad at Sam. Sam and Bobby had corned him later that day when he woke, giving him all kinds of self-help speeches, and life lessons about sorting out his demons, and opening up to them for a change. Not that it helped. He just ignored their advice, though let enough in to pull his head in and stop the drinking and prolonged silences, but couldn't seem to explain to them why he'd been so reckless. He couldn't even explain it to himself.

"Bobby said he could make it, so I arranged one. It's not my fault Bobby got called out to Rufus' place. Rufus' truck won't start and he needs it for hunting tomorrow" Sam shrugged.

"Ugh, I could have gone out to his place! Bobby should be the one here, not me," Dean frowned as they arrived at the wooden door with the small glass panel and crudely drawn classroom number. He remembered this room. "Who did you say your homeroom teacher was Sammy?" He asked curiously.

"Ah yes, the Winchester's! Come on in." A young man pulled open the door and ushered them inside, bright blue eyes sparking their attention.

Dean stalled, suddenly realising why this was familiar. He spent half his high school years walking past this room again and again, stopping to flirt with the flock of girls that were perpetually hanging around, like moths to flames. Not that the girls ever gave him the time of day. Sure, they flirted back, allowed a few sneaky slaps to the ass but never took him up on his offers, even if they were as innocent as a movie date, or dinner. No, they only had eyes for someone else.

Mr Novak was in his mid-twenties, with the cheekbones and jawline of a fucking sculpted god, and a chiselled, fit body to match. He somehow almost always managed to awkwardly cover it up with weird nerdy outfits, paired with an ill-fitting tan trench coat. The teacher had the coat with him now, slung over the back of his chair. His thick near-black hair always stood up on end, like he'd slept in late and rushed out the door without looking in a mirror, run his hands through it, or had just been fucked. The common theory among Dean's graduating class was: all three.

Dean didn't think too far into his evaluation of the good-looking young man. Hell, he'd spent enough time trying it on with the girls at school to hear the things they said about the quiet English teacher. He hadn't noticed the curve of his round ass, or the light stubble that always seemed to line his jaw, or the intense passion in his eyes when he taught. No, Dean was a very heterosexual man. But the female students of Kripke High School spent hours dissecting everything they had learnt about Mr Novak in his English Literature class, as opposed to studying the material. The only girls that he seemed to be immune to were Dean's best friends, Charlie and Jo. Dean figured it was because Charlie was a lesbian, and Jo was just Jo. She didn't have the time to fawn over the out-of-bounds teacher, he was good-looking and that was the end of it for her. Dean himself had never had the young man as his teacher, he was stuck with the pompously British Mr McLeod as his English Literature teacher for junior and senior years, and man was the guy an asshole.

"Mr Novak, nice to meet with you today" Dean says somewhat awkwardly.

"Please Dean, you are no longer a student here, so you can call me Castiel." Castiel smiles, shaking Dean's hand firmly.

Dean suddenly felt crude, wearing his filthy work suit, the 'workman's onesie' as Charlie liked to call it, hands coated in black residue. He watched as the teacher glanced down at Dean's dirty hands, and then at his own now slightly blackened palm. The teacher laughs good-naturedly and gestures for the two Winchesters to sit down, before relaxing back into his own chair.

"Sorry I don't mean to be rude, but I was under the impression that I was meeting with a Mr Bobby Singer, and unless you, Dean Winchester since your graduation have come clean about a son you have been harbouring these years while you attended school, I'd have to say I am a little bit confused" Castiel laughs a throaty laugh, blue eyes sparkling with humour.

"Bobby couldn't make it sorry, but Sam's education is important to the family, so I volunteered to step in his place."

Sam snorted loudly and Dean elbowed him sharp in the ribs.

The teacher just glanced between them, lips forming into an understanding grin. He had to have siblings.

"Well, there's nothing bad to report about your brother Dean. He's a wonderful student, his teacher's all give him their highest of praises, even his gym teacher admires him for participating in the class, even though it is not where his interests lie. Let me tell you, I almost failed and got kicked out of school because I refused to go to gym and had a rather public scene with my gym teacher, so Sam is in excellent shape for his first year here at Kripke High" Castiel smiled broadly.

"You nearly failed?!" Sam exclaimed, his mouth popping open in shock.

Mr Novak nodded, humour in his eyes. "That's another story for another day, Sam. But I will tell you someday. Maybe on your graduation, as it does involve some unsavoury rebellion that I'm sure the school board will disapprove of me uttering out loud after our sworn agreement."

Sam stared at the teacher in disbelief, Dean was thinking it through. It sounded far-fetched but he somehow could picture it, the quiet teacher as a nerdy teenage rebel of sorts, fighting against the system with his intelligent beliefs. He felt a pang for his fiery red headed friend, and made a mental note to call Charlie later. She'd probably changed her number, and he'd have to go through ten different methods to get to her, but he always tried.

Mr Novak went through Sam's up to date grades – All A+ and discussed subject options for the next school year. He was pushing for Sam to take senior AP Chemistry, and surprisingly, junior literature.

"Sam, we both know you have the talent and ability to ace AP Chemistry! Now, the school board is mildly apprehensive with putting a sophomore into an advanced senior class, but I have convinced them that you will show them they have made the right choice, are you in?" Castiel grins.

You'd think he was selling his own subject with how invested he is on this decision, Dean thinks to himself.

Sam convulses with enthusiasm. "I would be honoured! I mean, I know I'm taking advanced chemistry this year, but it's for underclassmen, and I need more of a challenge. Mr Tran just doesn't know what to do with me most lessons. I won't let you down."

"Good man," Mr Novak fist bumps Sam, much to Dean's amusement, but the two are too involved in discussion to notice. "Now let's talk about literature."

"What about it?" Sam asks, confused. It's not a subject he has shown much interest in pursuing, though his grades in English classes were high, but's that's just his average.

"Well, as you know, I take the subject, and from your report, and word from your current English teacher is that you have an excellent understanding of the subject, and all the English department teachers are fighting over whose class you'll go into."

"Hopefully not Mr McLeod's" Dean muttered under his breath.

"Ah yes, I have heard that Crowley McLeod is an unpopular man, but his teaching without a doubt is of excellence. He graduated from Dartmouth." Mr Novak informs them with a small smile.

"And where did you graduate from?" Dean asks him, somewhat sarcastically.

"Harvard." Castiel replies, an odd expression on his face, almost shame.

* * *

When they finally leave, with Sam enrolled in both senior AP Chemistry, and junior literature, Sam bounces up and down, his large frame bounding in and out of Dean's vision. "Stop, will you Sam? You're making me dizzy." Dean complains.

"Do you even read, Dean?! Harvard is ranked the number one Ivy League school in America. Someone else told me Mr Novak graduated top of his year, with a masters in English Literature. Do you understand how high of a level that is?" His long brown hair shook with every fast-paced step Sam was taking, the ends that curled slightly bouncing seemingly of their own free will. He seemingly hadn't noted Castiel's strange reaction to Dean's question.

"Sam, I barely passed school. I have no understanding of college. And what's with the weird name?"

Sam rolled his eyes as they got into the Impala. "Well, it means he's brilliant, to have gone to Harvard a year early and graduated at such a high level, when it's the best school in the country. And he was named after Castiel, the angel of Thursday. His parents were religious nuts, so all his siblings are named after angels. Apparently he has a brother called Lucifer."

"How do you even know that?" Dean asks, more than a little confused.

"Well Mr Novak told me himself about the angel thing. Becky Rosen told me about Lucifer. I don't know how true that is, but the information came from Becky, who is stalker of the century so it's more than likely."

"Lucifer, as in Satan? Hell's King, the Dark Lord and all that jazz?"

Sam sighs deeply, wanting to get back to the matter at hand. "The Dark Lord is Voldemort Dean, but essentially yes. Lucifer was the name of the angel who rebelled against God and was cast out of Heaven into Hell."

"Wow, I'd hate to get on his brother's bad side." Dean jokes.

"What I don't get, is why he's teaching at this small school in South Dakota, when he could teach anywhere, or do anything with that kind of qualification" Sam's voice was thoughtful as he ignores Dean and returns to the Ivy League dilemma, thinking it over in his head.

"I don't know either Sammy, so how 'bout you ask him next time. I gotta drop you here at Ellen's and then back to work. I've got about four cars to finish."

Dean was slightly bitter about how busy he was tonight, with last Friday's slowness fresh in his memory.

"I don't need a babysitter." Sam uttered in frustration.

"Well then kiddo, think of it as helping Ellen and Jo out at the bar."

"I'm not even allowed in the bar" Sam pulled his best bitch face, leaving Dean in hysterical laughter as they pulled up outside the Roadhouse.

Sam slammed the Impala's door and stalked into the bar, straight past Ellen who was waiting outside, the loud purring rumble of Dean's baby alerting her to their approach. She appeared at the window and ducked her head down, looking at Dean.

"Everything alright? He looks a bit bothered."

Dean manages to get his laughter under control to reply. "He's a bit upset with me ditching him onto you."

"We'll sort him out. Jo said she'd put him to work to help her study for final exams" Ellen smiles and Dean watches as it lights up her weathered face.

"Do me a favour, and maybe let him mix a few drinks or something? He feels like we treat him like a child."

"Maybe he shouldn't act like one then."

Dean hears one last chuckle as Ellen closes the Impala's door and walks back into her bar to tend to her patrons, leaving Sam to lick his own wounds. 

* * *

Castiel Novak leaves work later than he intended to, rushing home to his laptop and bottle of wine he knows is stashed somewhere. They'd planned their Skype call for 6 o' clock. It was already 6.30. Cas had been too engrossed in completing his monthly reports, and planning for finals. It was what he loved most about teaching, being able to see how far his students had come, from their first tests and pop quizzes, to their final exams. Sure, it wasn't what he wanted to end up doing with his life, but it was rewarding either way. Gabriel, however, did not care about Castiel's student's progress; all he wanted was his brother's wiry frame on his computer monitor every Friday night. Castiel's excuse was scoffed at, but the two of them sat down and _talked_ like all brothers do, even the ones eight years apart.

"Cassie, Dad won't leave me alone." Gabriel whined, his golden hair now sitting too long on his shoulders Castiel noted, most likely Gabe trying to rebel against their father's weird and often misplaced strict authority imposed on him.

"Maybe if you cut your hair, he wouldn't bother you so much" Castiel suggested light-heartedly, though they both knew it was the truth. Their father was all about appearances. If Gabriel appeared in a way that he approved of, he wouldn't give a damn about anything else.

Gabe sighed and picked up his wine glass, half full with red, and tipped it towards his webcam, a silent cheers to Castiel. Cas picked his own glass up and mirrored his teenage brother, both settling down into the solitude that was each other's company. They were quiet, and soft-spoken with each other. No words needed to be said. They were both mourning. The time of year was coming up again, and every Novak was taking it hard. It had been ten years.

"Has Dad said anything about Anna yet?" Cas asked, curiosity getting the better of him

Gabe's reaction told him all he needed to know, his seventeen year old brother's grief stricken face a haunting image. "He took her pictures down in April."

Cas flinched, the news almost too hard to hear.

"Do I need to come down again?" He asked, concern coating his usually rough voice.

"No, no. We're fine. I'm fine, Mom's fine. She actually likes my hair," Gabriel smiled at that, running his fingers through the golden locks.

"But what about Dad? What's going on?"

"He's just being Walter, I guess. Working, pretending we're still the perfect family, all the while drinking every second of every day." Gabriel laughed glancing at the thin stem in his hand holding the fishbowl full of wine. "Well, we're both drinking. But the difference is, I'm drinking with you, in moderation. And he's probably at the office, drinking scotch and smoking a cigar, having a blast with the board reps, while Mum sits here and wonders where he is."

"Please, let me come and help."

"Cassie, it's fine. You have school, budding young minds to develop! Plus, Mom is doing great. Really, yesterday, I didn't even have to remind her to take her medication." Gabriel told him.

"Plus, I am swamped at Northside, they want to show me off as their prodigy. I'm running out of ideas to 'stick it to the man.' I'm supposed to be the trickster, not some common fool."

"Common fool? This generation's smartest kid, you mean? Gabriel, I don't get it. Just play by their rules, it's only another year until you're out of there. Then you make your own rules." Cas told him.

"What, like you did? I don't _want_ their rules Cas, I want _my_ rules, I want _my_ life." Gabriel's face froze on Castiel's monitor screen, his angry voice still hurtling from the speakers.

"You know full well that is not what I did, Gabriel." Castiel said simply, his voice full of emotion, eyes brimming with tears. He hated to see Gabe like this, hated that they were fighting. Their father always knew how to drive a wedge between them.

"You know what Cassie, call me, when you actually give a damn, and can say that you have changed, and learnt to stand up to him." Gabriel said with such force, before ending their call, the video window turning black and dead, before returning to the home page.

The silence that followed after Gabriel's abrupt departure was too much to handle, so Castiel stumbled from his apartment, managing to shove his keys and wallet into his tan trench coat as he tugged it on and lurched down the stairs, searching for something, anything, to drive the pain away. 

* * *

**A/N: **Let me know what you guys think :) all will be explained in good time.


	3. O' Sister

**A/N:** Here you go, sorry it's late :)

* * *

Bobby and Dean were done for the night, scrubbing the grease from their hands with smiles on their faces, happy that the job was done fast, and that it was done right. It couldn't have been any later than nine, and Dean knew he could go to Ivy as he usually did, but he decided against it, not wanting the same concerned speech repeated to him again. He'd give it another week and let the dust with Sam and Bobby settle.

He let Bobby know he was picking up Sam, earning raised bushy eyebrows and a grunted "okay" before he started the Impala and grinned at her purr, as soft as the day when he completed her. The Roadhouse was on the outskirts of town, only a short distance from the auto shop, and was usually only frequented by regular locals and the occasional hunting crew. Dean knew he wouldn't be leaving until closing when he saw the whole place was swamped, parking lot so full he had to park down the street. Ellen ran the Roadhouse efficiently, with just her daughter Jo and their family friend Garth to help out. It was perfect, the usual crowd relaxed and never in a hurry for anything more than a burger, which Garth could produce in record time, and Jo was as quick as a fox, spinning out drinks faster than you could tap your glass for a refill. Dean only ever helped out on big event nights, which tonight wasn't because Ellen would have called, or when they got swamped by a surprise convention in town. The latter was Dean's guess for this evening.

As soon as he walked into the bar, a hand was tugging him behind the counter, and shoving a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

"That's for the customers, not for you, boy." Ellen said sternly, looking so ragged and run-off her feet, Dean was a little shell-shocked.

"What's with all the people?" Dean asked curiously. Every table was occupied, several groups of rowdy men playing pool, Dean thought he even saw someone smoking in the corner.

"Convention of some soft. Maybe hunting, or fishing, who knows? All I know is I need you behind here, please. Jo can take Sam home for you, I'll pay you, and you can have free drinks for a month!" Ellen begged as she pushed drinks towards the customers at the bar and shoved the bills they passed her into her pockets. There was no time for the register, Ellen meant business.

"Sure thing boss." Dean grinned, ducking out back to pull on a Roadhouse tee and offer an apology to Sam, who was disgruntled at not being allowed to help.

"Sammy, I promise, we can do whatever you want tomorrow. Movies, ice cream, treats, the works. Just don't be a bitch about this okay?"

Sam merely pulled the expression Dean liked to call his bitch-face, and followed Jo out to her car. Dean laughed and took up his position behind the squared U-shaped bar.

When Jo returned, with Sam safely back at Bobby's, the Harvelle women managed their business with Dean working the bar and Jo working the floor. Dean shook his head as she took out food orders, shirt two sizes too small to get more tips. It was a dirty tactic, and Dean called her out on it often, but she just smiled slyly, shoving the numerous bills into the tip jar as she passed. Ellen and Garth were in the kitchen, throwing out more burgers and bowls of chips than Dean or Jo could process.

"Dean, guy at the bar." Ellen nodded through the kitchen window as she passed out yet another Jumbo Burger.

"On it." Dean replied, serving the burger to the table in the corner before returning to the latest customer.

"What can I get you?" He rearranged the bottles of liquor he'd strewn across the bar quickly, barely enough hands for the tasks he had to do.

"Anything. Hard liquor, the strongest." A gravel voice said.

"Everclear will do?" Dean guessed, pouring a shot and handing it to the man before him.

Only after the man chugged it back and pushed the shot back to Dean, did Dean realise it was Castiel.

"Mr Novak?" Dean asked in surprise.

"Hello Dean." Castiel tapped his shot glass in mild annoyance, alcohol already clinging to his breath.

Dean hesitated, and poured him a second shot of the lethal liquid. "Mr Novak, I can't really serve you a third, cause it's against house rules, and you seem to be pretty... drunk."

"Teachers drink, Dean. We're allowed. It's not against the law. And I told you, you can call me Castiel. Really, you're not a student anymore, and you never were mine to begin with," The older man threw back his second shot, wincing at the after burn. "My student, I mean… Wow, that's really got a bite on it, don't you think?"

"Never tried it, I'm not much of a drinker" Dean said as he poured another patron a drink and handed the burly man in a hunting jacket his change.

"Dean Winchester? Not a drinker? Crowley seemed pretty pissed when you were so hungover that you vomited in his classroom during finals week of senior year." Castiel laughed, his face lighting up with amusement, blue eyes like beacons on a dark, tired face. His face lined with 5 o clock shadow, adams apple bobbing as he swallowed a few more times, the burn in his throat harsh and heavy.

Dean ducked his head in embarrassment. "It's not easy having class with that guy, let me tell you, you'd want to drink too." He says.

Castiel taps his shot glass again, eyes hopeful.

"Sorry, you're officially cut off from the hard liquors. I have beer, and… beer to offer you."

"Well, it's a hard decision from the vast array of choices you have presented me, but I'm gonna have to go with a beer." Castiel grinned.

"Careful, don't be smart now or I'll put you onto water." Dean handed Castiel an ice cold bottle of beer, an easy smile falling onto his face.

"I didn't know you worked here Dean." Castiel says.

"I don't," Dean answered. "I'm a mechanic. But Ellen needed a hand, and I guess my plans are flexible."

Dean blinked in surprise as he watched Castiel take a long swig of his beer, lips wrapping around the bottle's opening in an almost pornographic way. Before he had time to process this, Castiel's cellphone was ringing, blaring a Marina and the Diamonds track loud enough to startle the whole bar. Dean only knew who the artist was because Bobby secretly liked to listen to the hit pop music radio stations when he thought Dean had left the garage, and Dean didn't have the heart to announce his presence to the grumpy old man, leaving him and his crappy pop music alone.

"Uh, Cas… your cell.." Dean urged him, frowning as everyone in the bar turned towards them, glares thrown their way.

Castiel absentmindedly tossed his phone to Dean. "Tell him to go away."

Dean didn't have time for this; the patrons had begun to steadily pile up at the bar while he had been distracted by Castiel, everyone wanting to fit in their drink quota before last call. He quickly snatched up the phone and answered it just to make the horrid music stop.

"Hello, Cas' cell." He answered awkwardly.

"Cas?" A young male's voice sounded surprised, and strangely put-out. "Who is this? Where's Cassie?"

"Uh, Castiel is a little busy right now." Dean said the only thing he could think of.

"Please tell me he didn't pick you up in some bar, and you're taking advantage of him, cause he's an idiot who gets his feelings hurt too easily and then needs someone and anyone to distract him. You realise that you're a distraction, right?" The voice said simply, slight anger simmering away, but over-ridden by something that sounded like responsibility, or familiarity. "He doesn't like you, he's just picked you up to forget about how much of a coward he is."

"_Picked me up_?" Dean was stunned, and shocked into silence. He didn't know what to say to the man on the phone, or what to do. He finally pulled the phone away from his ear, and handed it back to Castiel.

"I think your boyfriend is mad at you."

Castiel laughed heartily, and took the phone, rolling his eyes. "Gabe, I thought you weren't gonna call until I'd changed. A few drinks won't change a man."

Dean stepped away then, not wanting to hear any more of the obvious lover's tiff. He focused on getting the drinks out, and money in. When the bar had finally quietened down and the night had all but simmered to an end, he noticed Castiel's absence from his bar stool, and signalled last call.

Jo put her empty tray down on the counter top of the bar, a deep sigh erupting from her small frame. She tugged the remaining bills from her pockets and stuffed them into the overflowing tip jar, a sly smile on her face. "Man I hate just serving myself up on a platter like that, but this money comes in handy."

They finished up by dividing the tips for the evening, and closed the bar with a well-earned burger each. Dean demolished his double bacon cheeseburger in minutes, starving from the elongated manual labour from the day, and then busy night of pouring drinks, Castiel Novak seeming like a distant memory.

When Dean made it to his car however, a familiar figure was laying up on the bonnet, back against the windscreen, captivated by the stars.

"Cas… what are you doing?" Dean asked, staring at the man.

"The stars are so pretty. Come look Dean, they're just like your pretty green eyes." Castiel's voice was calm, and he didn't sound drunk at all, which worried Dean the most.

"Come on Cas, time to get down." Dean told him, incredulity sweeping through him.

Castiel finally slid off Dean's baby, stumbling only slightly before straightening himself out. He stood mostly still, trench coat swaying lightly in the gentle breeze of the early morning.

They stared at each other in silence.

"Where do you live?" Dean asked with a sigh.

Dean located Castiel's place easily, a non-descript apartment block downtown, and parked the Impala.

"Do you need help getting up? To your apartment, I mean." Dean glanced away awkwardly, Castiel laughing at his unease.

"No I'm sure I'll be fine." Castiel told him, his voice a sultry gravel that soaked into Dean's bones.

They sat in silence for a moment, Dean waiting for Castiel to get out of the car and go inside, but instead Castiel grabbed the lapels of Dean's leather jacket, pulling him closer to him, startling Dean. Dean shifted awkwardly as Castiel still gripped him, round ocean eyes holding his gaze, the teacher saying nothing.

"Hey… Um Cas, are you really named after an angel?" Dean asks the first thing that comes to his head, mouth seemingly unable to keep the question from tumbling out. He shakes in his seat, confused and mildly aroused by Castiel.

"Castiel. The angel of Thursday." Castiel answers.

They are so close that Dean can feel the older man's breath on his lips, the stubble on Castiel's face almost touching his own. Castiel's eyes dart down to Dean's soft, slightly trembling mouth as he absentmindedly licks his own dry lips.

Dean puts his hands to Castiel's chest and gently shoves him backwards, snapping out of his shocked state and putting space between them; a warning.

A warning that none too subtly says '_I'm not gay._'

Castiel nods and smiles, before climbing out of the Impala, leaning down to peer at Dean.

"Dean Winchester, thank you for your service tonight."

"Uh, you're welcome Cas." Dean says, eyebrows burrowed in absolute confusion. He watches as Castiel closes the passenger door and heads into his apartment building. Dean mentally shakes himself of the whole encounter.

It's too late to go to Ivy, so Dean turns his baby around and heads home, spending his Friday night in his own bed for the first time in the longest time.

* * *

Castiel wakes up in the morning with a dull ache in his skull, light streaming through the long row of windows above his bed, still in his clothes from the day before, smelling like a brewery.

He sighs and slides out of bed, stumbling across the open space into his kitchen and blindly fumbles for the coffee pot, turning it on to brew him a steaming mug of caffeine.

He shrugs out of his favourite trench coat, and rubs his face, stubble scratching his fingertips, waking him from his hungover state. Confused, he sips his scalding coffee, and presses the answering machine, it's face blinking four messages.

"_Cassie, where are you? I'm sorry. Call me please."_

"_Castiel ,I shouldn't have said what I said, please call me. I hate knowing I've upset you. You were right, I know that. Please, Cassie."_

"_Where the hell are you Castiel? I'm fucking worried as shit. Call me you asshole."_

"_You're in a bar. A fucking bar. 'Cas?' Who the hell was that answering your phone? Who even calls you 'Cas', that's the dumbest thing I've heard. You better fucking call me back."_

Castiel blinks slowly, vision swimming with shots and green eyes shining with light and freckles and leather jackets and beer.

Just now, his phone rings again. The landline, so his cellphone must be missing or dead. No one ever calls the landline.

"Hello Gabriel." He answers with a sigh.

"Castiel, I've been fucking worried sick." Gabriel spits, younger brother playing the parent.

"Yes, my answering machine just told me. Apologies, I just had a few drinks and came home."

"Who was that you were with?" Gabe inquires, curiousity and concern mixing together.

Castiel stills, remembering the contours of Dean's jaw, the cropped blond hair, the eyes. His fucking eyes. "The bartender."

"Sorry. I was just angry, and upset. I didn't mean to upset you. I know it hasn't been easy for you, and I know you're trying. I shouldn't have blown up at you. Mom and Dad just get under my skin, you know?"

Castiel absentmindedly picks up the solid brass frame at the end of the counter top, staring at the old image inside, taken ten years ago. His father stands proud and tall in his business suit, barely a hint of a smile, hair graying and balding in places. His mother stands beside him, a slightly dopey grin on her weathered, sickly face, the strain of her illness already taking it's toll. His oldest brother Michael, newly adult at twenty-one stands taller than their parents; dark hair and eyes contrasting the pale skin, arm around their mother's shoulders, protecting as always. Lucifer stands to the side, eyes dark despite their pale colouring, jaw gritted and arms crossed; the then nineteen year old a statue of still disapproval.

The younger siblings stand at the front in a row, Gabriel and Castiel on the sides, with Anna standing between them, the anchor, the rock. Gabe smiles widely, his tongue stuck out of his mouth, the joker as always, even in youth, barely seven years old. Castiel's eyes skim over his sister, as he looks at his gangly fifteen year old self, skinny and weird-looking, with his too-bright eyes and hair cut short from his forced barbershop visits. He holds the notebook he always carried, a brown leather bound journal with the broken spine. In current day, it sits tucked away inside his bookshelf, untouched. His other hand reaches out, placed on Anna's elbow, steadying her, trying to keep her. Castiel always knew deep down that they would lose her. His sister stands, the perfectly false image of happiness, a soft smile on her gentle, pretty face, bright red hair falling in soft curls. She wears long sleeves, the cuffs pulled over her hands, make-up hiding the dark bruises underneath her weary eyes.

The photo itself was taken just weeks before her death.

"Castiel, are you there?" Gabriel asks, concerned.

Castiel hears him but his mind is in a faraway place, where he still has his best friend and his family was doing moderately okay, and his dreams were still whole, and within reach.

* * *

Sam and Dean fight on Saturday morning, angry and in each other's space, no privacy in their shared bedroom.

Dean angrily storms out of the room and down into the kitchen to find breakfast, Bobby stopping him at the table where he reads the newspaper.

"What's the matter, boy?" Bobby growls.

"Sam's being a little shit. I'm sick of it." Dean slams his cereal bowl so hard onto the table that the ceramic nearly cracks and milk sloshes over the sides.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that."

Dean raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah, now yer calm down." Bobby grins. "I've been thinkin' 'bout the shed out back, that I've been storing Karen's things in. It's time I got rid of it all. I've called the local charity shop, they're coming by to pick it all up."

"Bobby, are you sure?" Dean asks quietly. Bobby's wife died when Dean was young, he remembers the soft-spoken and loving Karen. She died just a year or two after Dean's mother, of cancer. Bobby retreated into his a quiet isolation after her death, throwing himself into work, and research, and reading. He'd moved on, but never really let go.

"Yes, it's time. And, ya ungrateful idjit, I thought you might want a lil' place of your own. It's dirty, and definitely needs a fix up, but it's yours if you want it." Bobby tells him.

"Seriously?" Dean's face lights up.

"No, ya idjit, I'm jokin'." Bobby frowns at him. "Course I'm serious. It has a bathroom and even a tiny kitchen thing, you'll be able to come an' go without disturbing anybody."

"A kitchen thing?" Dean repeats with a laugh.

"You'll see what I mean."

Sam and Dean race down to the shed, fighting forgiven and forgotten, both excited for the new project and prospect of having their own rooms. It was more of a tiny self-contained flat than a shed, it even had a little porch. Inside was a toilet and bathroom, a large room which Dean would turn into his bedroom, maybe even with enough room for a tv and a couch, and the 'kitchen thing'. It was barely two metres wide, just a small area with a fridge, sink and a microwave, all that Dean would really even need. The kitchen area even had a little breakfast bar, if Dean found some stools to fit under it. He loved it.

The two of them spent all day clearing out Dean's new room, movies and treats long forgotten, their own rooms being enough of a treat. The charity shop came and went, taking Karen's things away to be donated to the needy. Bobby sighed and smiled, a weight off his shoulders. Sam rummaged around the property, finding useful things for Dean to have, even finding a twin bed-frame with a mattress to match, and an old couch that didn't smell too bad.

They go out for a family dinner to a nice restaurant and bar in town, something they hardly ever do. Bobby even loses the trucker hat he keeps firmly on his head, the three of them dressed nicely for a change. The waitress hits on Dean every time she comes to the table, which is frequently, her blond hair pilled in a bun on her head, make up to the nines, breasts prominent in her tight fitting black shirt.

As Bobby pays the bill, Dean catches her eye for the fifth time in the last two minutes. "I think I might stay for a while."

Bobby follows Dean's gaze, and sighs, shaking his head. "Make sure you get home safe tonight… or tomorrow, idjit."

Dean and Sam fist bump and Dean pulls him in for a goodbye hug, ruffling his long shaggy hair. "See ya Sammy."

Sam laughs, shoving him away. "Duuude. Not cool."

Bobby and Sam head off home, and Dean sets himself up at the bar, ordering a beer. The waitress hands one to him, her fingertips lingering on his, ID forgotten.

"I'm Nicole." She smiles sexily, trying hard to make her voice sound sultry and sensual.

"John." Dean tells her as he lifts the beer to his lips.

They chat in between patrons, and Dean feigns interest, starting on his second beer when the manager steps up to a microphone that's been set up on a small stage.

"Hey, how's everyone's evenings going?" He asks with a grin. He's tall and burly, with beard and a Cajun English accent.

The crowd that has gathered cheer and clap, someone even wolf whistles.

"My Name's Benny, I run this joint, and we've got some talent for you this evening! Now he hides his accent well, but he's an Illinois man, Chicago born and bred, so it's not quite local tonight, but he calls this place his home, and that's good enough for us. Please welcome my good friend, Castiel Novak." Benny claps and gives the man who steps onto the stage an open-armed hug, before handing him a guitar.

The crowd bursts into applause, mostly women Dean now realises, as he turns towards the stage, captivated and surprised. Castiel sits down on a stool and adjusts the mic.

He talks to the crowd, and plays a few songs, covers of acoustic indie songs, and Dean is shocked at his voice. Castiel can sing, _really_ sing. Nicole is all but forgotten as he listens to Cas play, telling the audience between songs that he taught himself guitar when he was ten years old. He finishes his fourth song, a slow Passenger cover of the popular song 'Let Her Go' and the room goes crazy.

Every bar performance Dean has been to, the crowd talk over the musician trying to play, but this crowd is in awe, singing along and clapping to the beat, appreciating the musician before them.

"I know it's been a while since I played last but I found something this morning in my apartment, a song I wrote almost exactly ten years ago in an old journal and I thought to myself 'why have I never performed this?' So I called up Benny, and convinced him I had to play tonight." Castiel says, spinning lightly on the bar stool, strumming seemingly random chords.

"This is an original, it's called O' Sister. This is for you, my Anna. I'm sorry."

_Oh sister  
__What's wrong with your mind?  
__You used to be so strong and stable  
__My sister  
__What made you fall from grace?  
__I'm sorry that I was not there to catch you_

_What have the demons done?  
__What have the demons done?  
__With the luminous light that once shined from your eyes  
__What makes you feel so alone  
__Is it the whispering ghosts  
__That you feared the most_

_But the blackness in your heart  
__Won't last forever  
__I know it's tearing you apart  
__But it's a storm you can weather_

_Oh sister  
__Those lines etched in your hands  
__They're hardened and rough like a road map of sorrow  
__My sister  
__There is a sadness on your face  
__You're like a motherless child who's longing for comfort  
__What's running through your veins  
__That's causing you such pain?  
__Does it have something to do with the pills they gave to you?  
__What is eating at your soul?  
__Was it the whispering ghosts that left you out in the cold?_

_But the blackness in your heart  
__Won't last forever  
__I know it's tearing you apart  
__But it's a storm you can weather  
__Oh sister  
__My sister_

Dean nearly falls off his seat in a rush to stand and applause as Castiel draws the song to a close. He doesn't cry, but his blue eyes shine with a darkness that is both romantic and terrifying. Dean can't help himself; he is waiting for Castiel the second he climbs off the stage.

"Cas." He breathes, and Castiel's arms slide around his shoulders in a tight embrace.

Dean doesn't know what to do, so he just holds the man, and hopes it will be enough.

* * *

**A/N:** Finally got this update for you, _please_ let me know what you guys think!

Reviews and greatly appreciated, and help me get past the writer's block to give you guys more chapters :-)

The song that Castiel sings is called O' Sister by City and Colour. Give it a listen.


	4. Not Much of A Drinker

**Warning:** The chapter that earns the M rating! Enjoy ;)

* * *

The bar moved around them in full motion; it was a busy Saturday night, and Benny's was a popular place, the two of them sitting side by side at the bar together in comfortable silence, the calm in the eye of the storm.

"Hey look, I'm sorry about that." Castiel murmured quietly, plump lips barely opening to breathe out the words.

"Cas, don't worry about it. It's perfectly fine."

"I just… I didn't mean to put you in that position." Castiel glanced at him, cradling his beer for moral support.

If it was anyone else, Dean would have made a vulgar comment about the said 'position' but this was Cas, and this was serious, and he was carrying pain Dean couldn't even begin to scratch the surface of. Not to mention Dean was ninety-nine percent sure the older man was gay, and didn't want to give him the wrong idea.

And it was wrong; being gay. John had drilled that into him enough when he was a kid that Dean couldn't even bring himself to imagine Cas spread out and getting fucked into the mattress by some guy. No, he couldn't imagine it.

"Cas, it's okay," Dean whispered, eyes set on the smooth oak wood of the bar. "So, do you wanna talk about it… about her?"

"Pass. Not drunk enough." The teacher laughed gruffly, and nodded to Nicole the bartender for another beer.

Nicole glanced between them suspiciously as she handed Castiel a fresh beer, his third or fourth, Dean couldn't remember. "So John, I finish at one. You wanna go somewhere?"

Castiel raised his eyebrows in question, turning towards Dean, who was engrossed in his thoughts. "John, I believe the young lady is talking to you."

Her eyes flicked between them again, jealousy tarnishing the face Dean had previously thought was pretty. "Or is this like, a date?" She asked, her voice falling flat.

"It is most certainly not a date," Castiel said, a smile on his emotionless face. "John is free after one."

"Actually, I'm not free. Sorry." Dean told her, voice apologetic.

She walked off in a huff, leaving the two men at the bar alone, in silence yet again.

"So… Anna?" Dean asked eyes hopeful.

Castiel sighs deeply, and turns to face Dean, his usually bright eyes thick with sadness. "My sister. She was two years older than me and we were best friends. She had bipolar, you know, manic depression." Castiel explained in a monotone voice, struggling to keep the tears from escaping from where they pooled in his eyes.

"Shit Cas." Dean breathed, outstretching a hand to place on the older man's elbow.

Castiel glanced at Dean's hand there, gripping him and let out a small laugh, one tear slipping down his stoic face. Dean thought it might have been his imagination, the tear left no trace, as if it had never been there, but the way Castiel hastily wiped at his eyes broke the illusion.

"She struggled with it for a number of years before it eventually took her life."

They sat in utter silence, Dean's hand still gripping Castiel, the shock sinking in.

"It's coming up ten years, on Tuesday. She would be twenty-seven. By now she'd probably be married, with a toddler, face full of piercings and body covered in ink. She loved all that stuff, tattoos and being hardcore. You'd never know by looking at her."

Castiel produces his wallet, small with cracks in the brown leather, and holds it out to Dean. There's a photo of Castiel, looking to be about fourteen, tall and gangly with his arms around a flaming redhead, her smile lighting up the whole photo. It was hard to believe they both had suffered.

"She looks like Charlie." Dean smiles gently, handing back the image and his wallet.

"Yes, Miss Bradbury. It was quite painful to teach her. The alikeness was a bit too uncanny for me to handle." Castiel smiles back, sincere and honest. The kind of smile that says I'm not okay yet, but I'm getting there.

They sat together at the bar, until Benny signalled last call, his Cajun English accent twanging as he told them: "You don't have to go home but you can't stay here."

They do go home, to their separate houses, Dean stuck with a strange feeling he hadn't felt in quite a while. He lets himself into the main house and trudges up to what is now Sammy's room, his heart heavy.

"Sammy?" Dean whispers as he enters. Sam is sitting up in bed on his laptop, despite it being near two AM. He glances up and frowns.

"Dean, are you drunk? Do you not remember you have your own little house, keys and all? Or did you lose them?" Sam asks, heaving a deep sigh.

"Shut up bitch." Dean laughs affectionately.

Sam laughs too, looking Dean over. He can see his older brother chewing on something, trying to get out the words. There's silence, while Sam waits Dean out.

"I came to tell you, that I, uh, _IloveyouandI'msorryIdon'tsayitmoreoften._" Dean's words come out in a rush. He's embarrassed and awkward and they never say things like that, which is why Dean knew he needed to.

"I love you too Dean." Sam says simply, the young teen having no qualms with the words. But then again, he was raised by Bobby, not John, and Bobby was a lot more forthcoming than John with his emotions, even if his range was limited. They're males after all.

"I'm gonna sleep in here, kay? I haven't even made up my bed yet, and I'm tired." Dean lies, sinking onto his old mattress, where he has slept for ten years. The familiarity seeps into his bones, taking away some of the pain he feels tonight. This time the pain is not his own feelings of loss and abandonment, but Castiel's tragedy of losing his sister. Dean can't imagine losing Sam. Even though he was ready to leave once before, Dean knew he couldn't ever leave Sam again. He was too important, family was too important.

Sam accepts the weak excuse with a smile and a muttered "good night" as they turn off the light.  
~

* * *

~  
Castiel spends the morning pouring over his box of notebooks, finding stories and song lyrics and all sorts of things from the past years, he fancied himself as quite the writer when he was young. Words from the night before have him inspired, he scribbles madly in the most recent moleskin notebook he has, ideas and lyrics spill onto the blank pages until his mind is cracking under the pressure and he can no longer think.

Dean Winchester plagues his memories; the young man's image pulsating from his tired brain. Castiel sighs, knowing these thoughts will get him nowhere.

"He's a student." Castiel says aloud, the spoken words shattering the utter silence that had built up in his apartment, suffocating him, trapping him there.

Well, an ex-student. He thinks to himself, as he collects his coat and keys, leaving the unbearable space, deciding a drive would better clear his head. And it does, the windows rolled down, his favourite classic rock station pouring out songs onto the empty road. He heads out of town, no destination in mind, when the engine of his old crappy four-hundred dollar car starts to smoke, the black clouds streaking out from under the hood in wispy tendrils.

"Just what I need." He mutters, pulling to the side of the empty road. He tugs at his already standing up hair in frustration, and flicks the ignition off, climbing out of the smoking vehicle for good measure. He can't see anything around him but empty field, no landmarks or identifiers to how far along he is on the back road out of town. He remembers Harvelle's Roadhouse being out this way, and briefly wonders which direction he should walk in, when a sleek black Chevelle rumbles to a stop next to him, an older man with a trucker's cap and hunting vest leaning out the window.

"Car trouble?" He asks gruffly.

Before Castiel can be anxious about the likeness to a horror movie's plot, he recognises the man as Bobby Singer, Sam and Dean Winchester's guardian. He laughs, relieved and somewhat embarrassed with himself. He also feels the irony of driving to get away from thoughts of Dean, and having his car break down only to be helped my Dean's almost-father.

"Yes, I don't really know cars so I'm quite confused."

"It's yer lucky day, I own an auto shop jus' five minutes up this barren road, I'm Bobby Singer." Bobby laughs, parking in front of Cas' dump of a car so he can use the tow bar.

"Castiel. Novak."

"God, is this car even worth saving?" He glances at Castiel quickly. "No offence."

"None taken, it was the only thing I could afford at the time and I've ended up forming quite an attachment to the retched thing." Castiel laughs.

They climb into Bobby's car, it's engine running perfectly fine, if not a little loud for Castiel's liking. Castiel laughs when he remembers the loud roar of Dean's car from the student parking lot. He never taught Dean but he was well on his radar before they met formally just days ago. Dean was somewhat of a legend at Kripke High.

When Bobby questions Castiel's chuckle, the younger man tells him he is a teacher, and just remembering a previous student.

"You teach at the high school in town? My son goes there." Bobby says.

"Yes, Sam. He's a great kid, one of my favourite students by far." Castiel tells him, and he thinks his heart just might explode at the proud smile Bobby beams at him.

Bobby takes them into a non-descript turn off, with the sign 'Singer Auto Repair.' There's a small house at the very front of the property, with the auto shop to the left, and a salvage yard behind the shop, empty farm land stretching out beyond that. It's messy and rough, much like the man who owns it, but the atmosphere is warm, and full of pride. Bobby would be the type of man to build the place from the ground up. Castiel asks him this, and Bobby just grins. "Me and my boys," He responds.

Castiel wanders the auto shop while Bobby looks over his car, hearing multiple use of the word "balls!" before Bobby calls Castiel over, explaining the problem. It'll take several days to repair the carburetor, since Bobby doesn't have the part in stock, and his 'regular guy' is on vacation so he has to order from the 'yuppie manufactures.'

"Sorry I don't have any courtesy cars for ya, but I'll discount yer price of the carburetor to make up for it. My son Dean could drop you to wherever you need to be right now, I've got an appointment to make in half an hour. He's over in his place, he won't mind taking you." Bobby nods to the small building next to the salvage yard.

"Thank you Mr Singer, I've left my contact number, please call me with a quote for your work and let me know when she'll be ready." Castiel awkwardly gathers his stuff from the backseat of his now unreliable car and chuckles when he hears Bobby mutter "she'll never be ready, dump of a car."

Castiel considers just walking back into town, to avoiding seeing Dean for what has been the fourth time in three days and seeming like a complete stalker, but the curiosity weighs out, so he wanders over to Dean's 'place.' It's a sleep-out of some sort, a few beer bottles lining the steps onto the porch that wraps the building. There's loud rock music – Metallica, blaring from speakers, and Castiel follows the porch around until he comes to wide open French doors, revealing Dean in a large empty room, coveralls rolled and tied at his waist, sun kissed skin stretching over his muscled back as he worked a wall in a thin coating of a familiar bright blue paint. He was singing, loudly and surprisingly on-key, a beer bottle in one hand, the paint roller in the other. The song fades out into a Black Sabbath song Castiel can't quite remember the title of, the pause alerting Dean to his presence.

"Here to help, are you? Given up on your games?" Dean laughs suddenly, surprising Castiel as he turns around. "Mr Novak? Shit, sorry, thought you were Sammy."

Castiel's eyes can't help but subtly roam over Dean's exposed body, it's happening whether Castiel's brain okayed the action or not. Dean's arms and hands are streaked in white paint, with a smear of blue brushing across his left cheekbone and another line of blue paint streaking down his chest, right next to the symbol tattooed above his right (toned) pectoral. His skin is a heavy sun kissed tan from spending too long working shirtless on car's out in the sun, Castiel can guess, or maybe Dean is a surfer and travels to the coast to catch the waves, although Castiel can picture the first scenario better, his taught body bent over the hood of a car, working up a sweat…

"Dean!" Castiel says, voice perhaps, a bit too breathless, an octave too high.

"What are you doing here? Is this, what, the third or fourth time I've seen you this weekend?" Dean laughs, his green eyes animated.

"It's the fourth." Castiel says, a smile on his face. "My car broke down. Bobby said it'd take a few days to fix. He uh, said you would drive me home?"

"So you met my grump of a father-figure, huh? I've been drinking, probably had one too many to drop you home, even though I feel fine. I could call you a taxi?"

"I can stay and help, if you like? I'm no painter, but how hard can it be?" Castiel finds his mouth opening without his permission, his body screaming '_Dean! Dean! Dean!_' without the approval of his reasoning brain.

"Sure, Cas. Just pick up a roller." Dean grins, the smile lighting up his whole face, square jaw no longer clenched, eyes shining so bright Castiel has to look away.

This is the Dean he remembers, from Kripke High. Easy-going and care-free, happy. He was probably a little tipsy now, albeit but Castiel didn't think that mattered. He seemed like he was doing okay, they both were.

Dean laughs as Castiel sheds his tan trench coat and rolls up sleeves of his pale blue dress shirt, dark blue tie fastened tightly around his neck. "Cas, you can't paint in that."

Castiel shrugs and tugs at his tie until it comes loose, and removes his shirt slowly, button by button. Dean has to look away. _What is happening to me? _He questions, glancing back to the older man. Cas is now shirtless, in slacks and a black belt, standing awkwardly in the middle of Dean's unfinished room.

Dean opens his mouth to tell him he can't possibly paint in slacks either, but the words get caught in his mouth, throat closing to prevent the words from escaping. Cas just looks at him, the tension in the air rising. "Do you-?" Cas begins to ask, Dean just points to the dresser sitting in the middle of the kitchen.

"Second drawer."

Castiel finds a pair of grey sweatpants in the dresser, toes off his shoes and black socks with the hole on the heel before turning with his back to Dean, slipping out of his slacks and into the younger man's surprisingly comfortable sweats.

Dean pretends he is engrossed in his painting, and isn't at all interested in watching the exchange of pants but he is, and marvels at Castiel's toned, tattooed back, two giant angel-like dark tattooed wings striking down either side of his spine, pointing to the band of his black boxer-briefs. He watches Castiel fold his slacks neatly and place them on the counter and tug the sweatpants over his calves and muscled thighs up to his hips, where more tattoos line his front, Dean has to glance away before he can look further.

Castiel returns to the wall, and picks up a second roller, pretending he doesn't notice the rising pinkness in Dean's cheeks.

They work on the walls until the sun drops low on the horizon and they're both covered in a thin film of sweat. Castiel is still working hard, his muscles straining, the wings on his back flexing with every brush of the roller on the wall. Dean has paused, and is unknowingly watching Castiel work, somewhat mesmerised. He keeps trying to talk himself out of what's going on here, downplay it, erase it, a mental 'no homo' but there's only so many things you can lie to yourself about.

* * *

Dean clears his throat to get Cas' attention. "Hey man, thanks for all the help." He says, a bit more gruffly than he means to. "I think you've earned a beer."

"I think I've earned twelve beers." Castiel jokes easily, putting his roller down on the plastic so he doesn't mark the hardwood floors.

"Good thing I stocked up then." Dean gestures to the fridge, where Castiel finds at least two full boxes of beer.

"I thought you weren't much of a drinker." Castiel laughs, grabbing two beers. He passes one to Dean and walks past him out onto Dean's porch.

"Yeah and I thought you were a nerd." Dean mutters quietly. The teacher had shocked him with his build. Dean had assumed he was a wiry weakling, no offence to Castiel, but man, his wardrobe covered up his muscled, chiselled frame. Not that Dean was thinking about his body. He wasn't.

Dean took a deep breath and followed Cas out onto the deck and found him settled down on the wooden steps facing the empty farm land. Dean sat beside down on the opposite side of the steps so he could lean against the frame and face Castiel. They drank their well-earned beer, and laughed and joked, the friendship coming easily between them.

"So, Mr 'not much of a drinker' Winchester, do you always drink every night like this?" Cas grinned, beer pressed to his forehead to expel some of the heat they were absorbing. They were still shirtless; Dean couldn't help but admire Cas wearing his pants.

"Not with such good company" Dean responds jokingly. "Sometimes I drink alone."

"That's not good, drinking alone. My brother and I, he's just a kid, but we skype all the time, enjoying a glass of wine with each other."

"Wine and he's a kid?" Dean asks, mildly concerned.

"Gabe's seventeen. He's back in Chicago and I hardly ever get to see him."

"Seventeen is a kid, huh?" Dean seems offended, and Cas quickly works out why.

"Dean, don't be like that. You are _not_ a kid." Castiel tells him.

He's about to continue, when Dean interrupts him. "Gabe? The guy who called you at the bar? Is your brother?"

"Yes, who did you think it was?"

"No one, never mind. It's just I'm two years older than him, that hardly counts for anything."

"Dean Winchester, you are two years older than him, I am six years older than you. It doesn't matter, it's about maturity. When in your life have you ever gotten to be a kid?" Castiel points out gently, trying not to upset the younger man. "You've been through struggles half of us would never go through in our lives."

"How do you know about that?"

"Sam told me. About your mom, and your dad. The military, Bobby, all that. I was curious and he wanted to talk."

"Sam's always been the emotional one, not me." Dean says simply.

They drink their beer in silence, before Castiel leans over and puts his hand on Dean's shoulder, palm icy from cradling the cold beer, making Dean nearly jump through his skin. He doesn't let go, merely grips the younger man that little bit tighter. "Dean, talking helps. You're not being emotional if you just talk to someone. It's not weak, you're not weak."

"Thanks Cas, for the after school special. I appreciate it, really I do." Dean says, sarcasm breaking the heartfelt exchange. Or at least Castiel thought it was heartfelt, Dean the little shit just avoids anything he thinks is a 'chick flick moment.'

"You're such an asshole." Castiel laughs, using the hand gripping Dean to push him down the steps.

"Don't I know it." Dean grins, eyes crinkling at the corners, and all Castiel can think is a smile has never looked better on anyone than it does right now, on Dean Winchester.  
~

* * *

By the time it gets dark, they're both drunk as fuck and laughing hysterically.

"Shh. Shhh, I'm a great cook, okay! I am a fucking chef." Dean tells Castiel, insists as he produces the pizza he managed to cook in the microwave, much to Cas' amusement.

"Chef Dean. You'll have to show off your talents another time and cook me dinner." Castiel flops down next to Dean on the ground, groaning as he knocks his bones on the bare wood of the floor.

"I hope that's not a date. Because I'm not gay." Dean says, drunkenness throwing his filter to the wind, words tumbling straight from his mouth with no thought process.

"What, and I'm not gay either?" Castiel just laughs.

"Are you?" Dean stares at the man. There's music playing somewhere as they're sprawled out on the open floor, surrounded by Dean's half-attempted cooking and empty beer.

"I am, and what does that matter?" Cas raises his eyebrows, waiting. The exchange is relaxed and friendly, and not one they would be having if either of the men were sober.

"It matters if I have to put my cock in your ass." Dean chuckles, rolling towards the older man, staring him down.

"Who says you're top? What if I'm a top?" Castiel suggests, trying to gauge Dean's reaction.

"Dude, you are not a top."

"Dude, your over-exerted aggressive masculinity suggests otherwise to _you, _Winchester, being a top."

"I'm not gay!" Dean cries, half laughing. They end up in a fit of laughter, threatening to waken Sam and Bobby, who had long since gone to sleep.

Castiel extracts himself to search for more beer, not that either of them need it, leaving Dean lying on the floor, chest heaving with breathless laughs. He pulls himself up and sneaks into the kitchen after Cas, thoughts of scaring the man, or surprising him, or both. Castiel is leaning down in the fridge, rummaging through the vegetable drawer for the coldest beers when Dean does neither. The younger man leans forward and places his palms on Castiel's chest, pulling Castiel flush against him, his own chest pressed to Cas' back. Dean's erection burns a brand into the curve of Cas' ass as they fall backwards until Dean is trapped between the countertop and Castiel.

"I knew you were gay." Castiel gasps somewhat breathlessly, grinding himself back on Dean. Dean can't take it. He runs his hands from Cas' chest down his taught stomach, one hand stopping to rest over Castiel's tenting erection, the other following around to Cas' ass, before it creeps into the waistband of the borrowed sweatpants and Castiel's boxer briefs.

Dean's hand roams the soft panes of the older man's butt, Castiel moaning softly until Dean's fingertips brush the cleft of his ass, slipping down to caress his hole, earning a loud groan from the man as he pushes back onto Dean, desperation leaving him body in shakes and gasps.

"Guess this means I'm the top right?" Dean attempted a laugh, but it came out breathy and raw as Cas grinded on him and his fingers.

Castiel turns to face the younger man suddenly. Dean loses his purchase on the man's ass but before he can complain, Castiel is pressing himself back into Dean, erection to erection as his perpetually dry lips touched Dean's. Cas wasn't sure how the 'straight man' in Dean would react to the invasion, but in their inebriated states neither of them were thinking of morning-after consequences.

Albeit, neither of them expected Dean's lips to open so quickly as Cas licked into the seam of his mouth, or that Cas' tongue would slip in perfectly into deans wet mouth and receive a moan in response.

Castiel reached down and hoisted Dean up onto the counter, gripping his strong thighs as Dean wrapped them around the older man, his hands roaming smooth panes of chiselled skin, revelling in the strong surfaces they were not used to caressing. Cas continues to kiss Dean, hard and hot like the world is ending, his hand reaching up to the counter between Dean's legs until the found the tie of Dean's stupid painted coveralls and ripped them wide open palming Dean's already leaking cock through his boxer briefs.

"Bed. Now." Dean moans into his mouth.

"Do you even have a fucking bed?" Castiel demands, as he pulls Dean down to him and carries them into the main room, pelvises pressing erections together in the most uncomfortably delicious way.

"Floor." Dean demands, feeling Castiel's cock twitch at his words.

"We're not having your first time on the fucking floor." Castiel groans in frustration, arms still holding Dean, his strength unwavering as Dean kissed down his neck, sucking and biting at the pale skin until his mouth was at Castiel's adam's apple.

"I'm not gonna be the one getting fucked into it." Dean argues, his words ghosting along the older man's throat. Castiel just smirks, and thrusts his hips into Dean's leaving him breathless.

Dean can hardly speak he is so turned on, only just managing to choke out the words.

"Mattress. Porch."

Castiel does not question why his mattress is on the porch, striding to where Dean had left it, luckily around the back and away from the main house, shrouded by the porch's awning and a rather large hedge.

Cas pushes Dean down onto the mattress, a sudden roughness to the soft man, earning such a hardness from Dean he had never experienced in his life.

Cas' lips trail from Dean's hungry mouth, down his neck to his collarbone, where he starts to suck and bite, rolling his hips in slow, decisive motions. Dean groans, his throbbing cock making the pants of his coveralls so tight he can't breathe and needs them off _now._ Using his thighs drawn around the older man's legs, he tugs at Cas' sweats until they come loose and Cas kicks them off himself.

Castiel returns to marking and branding Dean's collarbone until dean groans and thrusts so hard up into Cas, the man is nearly winded.

"Shit" Cas moans as he tears off Dean's coveralls, thrusting back, rocking and rolling his hips against Dean's, sending the younger man into a frenzy.

With Castiel fully naked, and Dean wearing nothing but his underwear, they rock against each other, erections pressing together, the friction creating loud moans and gasped breaths until Cas lowers his face to Dean's dampened blue boxer briefs, mouthing over the impressive erection. Dean's head falls back, his body convulsing to the oh so hot touch.

Cas' hands ran up and down deans thighs as he removes the man's underwear, letting Dean's cock spring to life, head leaking pre-come, his own erection burning into Dean's thigh. Dean could feel Castiel's breath ghosting over his cock. He didn't dare look down at those captivating blue eyes for fear of letting go too early. He was so close, but never wanted this feeling to end. Since when could sex get this hot! He hadn't even stopped to consider the difference in gender, only acknowledging how right it felt.

Arguments of 'Top and Bottom' are long forgotten as they're both just begging for any kind of release.

Castel's mouth engulfs Dean suddenly, lips wrapped tightly as he ran his tongue along the underside of Dean's cock. As Dean's thighs fell open and his hands flew into Cas' hair, Dean knew there was no way Cas hadn't done this before, no one was that talented at blow jobs without serious experience. He didn't have time to dwell however as Cas pulled him further and further into his mouth, until his lips touched the soft hair that lined Dean's pelvis, cock buried so deeply in his throat, and then the bastard fucking swallowed around him and Dean was_ lost_.

He gripped Cas' hair tighter in signal, the older man tightened his lips on Dean and sucked, drawing Dean to his end, with a shattered cry as he came harder than he ever had in his life, spilling his come down Cas' throat. The older man swallowed and his lips loosened with a loud pop from Dean's softened and spent dick. Dean could feel Cas' cock straining between them so his hands reached down and palmed Cas, before grabbing the man's length in a firm fist, fingers grazing the split, spreading his pre-come as lubricant.

He pumped twice and then a third time, adding a twist to the end, his other hand massaging the man's balls, and Cas was gone with a long string of ridiculously dirty profanities spewing from his filthy mouth as he reached his climax. The two laid together in their mess, neither moving, falling asleep like that, naked and sticky, pressed against each other, Dean half on top of Castiel, their chests rising and falling to the same rhythm.  
~

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry if it's taken me way too long to get to this point, in both the time it takes to upload to the amount of (probably pointless) plot I keep forcing upon you guys before actually giving you the smutty stuff. Please review, it means the world to me! I'm down to one exam left, then I'm finished and done with school and can focus on work and writing! Let me know what you think.


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